When You're by My Side (Flaws and Scars)
by NikonFriend
Summary: Clark Griffin has demons, and they've left her nearly hopeless. When Clarke's world seems to be falling apart, can Lexa help her learn that, maybe, life can be about more than just surviving? Clexa AU
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Just a reminder, this is an AU Clexa story. Also, the title of this story is based off of the song "Naked" by Brielle Von Hugel, and if you choose to listen to it, you might find that, in time, it really does relate to the story. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think

* * *

Clarke fiddled with the hem of her baggy, black sweatshirt as she stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the townhouse before her with uncertainty. She couldn't fight the apprehension that had already overcome her, and a large part of her wondered if she should just turn and walk away from the building, leaving that red door behind her without ever looking back. The logical side of her, though, knew that doing so would be idiotic, and dangerous, and unwise. Even if the thought of knocking on that door was damn near petrifying, she knew that she _needed_ to do this. She just wasn't sure if she was ready to see the woman on the other side of that door.

 _Come on, Griffin,_ she willed herself after another moment of staring anxiously at the three concrete steps that lead up to the front door. _Just get it over with. If she hates you, she hates you. But you have to do this._

She shut her eyes, inhaled a deep, cold breath, and took the last few tentative steps forward until she was standing right there. Right in front of that damned door. He lifted up her hand, and for a few seconds, it only hovered there, an inch away from the wood. Then, after granting herself one final moment of self-reassurance, she rapped on the door, gritting her teeth slightly as her knuckles made contact with the surface.

She didn't breathe as she waited for a few silent seconds. Maybe she would get lucky, in a sense. Maybe the light that shone through the window had been left on accidentally. Maybe no one was there. Maybe no one would answer that door and she would be able to turn and walk back down the pavement in the opposite direction, saving her humiliation for only herself. Maybe she wouldn't have to fear the rejection that she feared, or, possibly even worse, the forgiveness that she feared. She was prepared to turn around -to retreat from this god-awful decision that she'd allowed her emotions to control- but before she could do so, she heard the _click_ of the door being unlocked and light leaked out from behind the doorframe into the damp darkness of the night.

Clarke's heart stopped. She kept her head turned down, but with her eyes looked up to the face of the woman before her. She gulped nervously, not knowing what to expect but, at the same time, knowing that some sort of pain would follow her arrival. Or rather, her return.

"Hi, can I help yo-"

Raven stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening and her own heart betraying her as she recognized the eyes of the girl who stood in front of her. Had it not been for those eyes -those unforgettable, crystalline blue eyes- she might not have recognized the girl so quickly. Clarke's appearance wasn't one that Raven would have expected, and in a sense, the girl was almost unrecognizable in more than a few ways. The baggy sweatshirt practically swallowed the blonde's figure, making her look even smaller than she already was, and her hood was pulled up over her head, casting a shadow over her face. She almost looked like she was hiding herself under the hood of the sweatshirt, and something about the girl's appearance just seemed _off_. Raven, however, was too overwhelmed with the shock of Clarke's return to really comprehend just how 'off' things really with with her former best friend.

" _Clarke,"_ Raven deadpanned, the name falling from her mouth harsher than she'd even intended for it to sound. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Clarke didn't know how to respond. She didn't know how to react to Raven's immediate response to her being there, and while she certainly hadn't expected any sort of warm welcome, the near hatred in her friend's eyes was enough to leave her with a pain in her heart.

"Raven, I-" she paused, stumbling over her words, and she closed her eyes, trying to think of the right thing to say. She'd had everything planned out. Over and over again, she'd handwritten exactly what she had wanted to tell Raven. She'd had everything listed, everything rehearsed, everything simplified. Now, though, her mind was running a blank and she didn't even know how to get out a single sentence. She didn't know how to explain herself, or even just her presence. "I-"

"Spit it out, Griffin," Raven replied coldly, "or get the _hell_ off of my doorstep." The brunette was being especially hostile, but truth be told, she was simultaneously overcome with relief at seeing the blonde in person. She didn't _actually_ want Clarke to leave. Deep down -and she was aware of it- she desperately wanted Clarke to explain the reason for her absence, and for her sudden reappearance, but she was still pissed. And she had a damn right to be.

That was when things accelerated. Clarke's head started spinning as she tried to formulate something that would make sense. She couldn't find the right words, though. She couldn't even find the thoughts. All of her reasons for being there, all of her explanations for why she'd even left in the first place, were suddenly gone from her mind. She just knew that she'd messed up by even showing up there in the first place. Raven hated her, and popping up out of nowhere without any warning had been more than just a dumb decision. It had been a mistake. Raven deserved better, and she had every reason to hate her. Clarke didn't know what else to do, though. She didn't have any other options. Anyone else she could turn to. This had been her last _real_ home, her last safe place, and she didn't know what to do. Her breathing sped up as the world started spinning around her, and she wasn't even aware of the fact that she was mumbling out words as she could feel herself beginning to slip into what likely would lead to a panic attack.

"I- I don't- I fucked up- I- I don't know what-" the blonde stammered almost incoherently, feeling somewhat lightheaded. "I tried, I tried to- I don't know- I don't have anywhere else to go, I just-"

Clarke just kept spitting out nonsense phrases, and Raven's anger was instantly diminished and replaced with confusion and concern as she looked at the girl with blue eyes who was undoubtedly beginning to hyperventilate. Something was wrong. Something was really, _really_ wrong.

" _Clarke,"_ Raven spoke sharply, attempting to grab her friend's attention. "Clarke, honey, look at me," Raven tried. "What's going on?"

Clarke didn't even seem to realize how Raven's demeanor had changed. She just shook her head, eyes wide and wet, filled with what Raven sickeningly made out to be utter fear. "No, I- I should go." She suddenly turned, her voice shaking as she placed her foot on the first step to walk away. "I'm sorry, Rae, I-"

"Clarke, _stop,_ " Raven insisted.

She practically jumped forward, grabbing the blonde's upper arm in an attempt to stop her. With a sharp gasp, Clarke immediately yanked it out of Raven's grip and looked back, almost momentarily frozen with a look of terror on her face, which was now illuminated by the fully-open door of the townhouse. Raven could feel her stomach drop as, for the first time, she got a clear look at her friend's face. She wasn't sure what frightened her the most: the bloodied lip and the bruises, or the look of absolute panic that consumed Clarke's expression.

She stepped back, lifting her hands up into the air to show that she meant no harm, and Clarke seemed to relax slightly, but she still looked distraught. She still looked scared.

"Clarke," Raven breathed, " _please,_ come inside. Okay?"

Clarke seemed to hesitate for a moment, but as soon as she saw the genuine concern and almost desperation in Raven's eyes, she nodded and stepped through the doorframe, inwardly sighing with slight relief. She was still nervous, she was still in a slight state of panic, and her breathing was still faster and somewhat shallower than what it should have been, but Raven had _actually_ let her inside, and she actually seemed to care. Maybe the brunette didn't hate her as much as she'd worried.

Raven closed and locked the door gently behind her, and as she turned to look back toward her clearly distressed friend, she wasn't even sure what to do or say. All that she knew was that Clarke was her _best friend,_ regardless of everything that had happened between them, and something was _really_ wrong.

Her eyes went to Clarke's face instantly, scanning the injuries that were most abundant on the right side of her face. It looked even worse in the white light of the apartment. Before Raven could even make any detailed observations, though, Clarke turned the right side of her face away from her concerned friend, knowing exactly what the brunette was thinking.

"Look, Raven, I-" she paused, taking a breath as she tried her best to remain as calm as she could manage. "I'm sorry, I know-"

"Hey, hey, stop," Raven interrupted softly but firmly with a shake of her head. "You don't need to apologize for anything right now. Okay?"

Clarke's jaw was set as she willed herself not to let any tears fall, and she refused to make eye contact with her friend. She was beginning to calm down more, though, and she just swallowed the knot in her throat as she took in a few slow breaths. When Raven didn't receive a response, the brunette slowly and gently placed her hand on Clarke's chin, getting the girl to look at her. Raven's heart shattered once more as she saw the look of absolute sorrow -of some unknown pain- in Clarke's eyes, and it took everything she had in her not to wrap the blonde up into a hug right in that moment.

"Let me see," Raven instructed, her voice firm yet still gentle.

Clarke looked desperately at her, _pleadingly._ She knew that she couldn't have expected anything else from her, but she still didn't want Raven to _actually_ have to see the injuries. She didn't want Raven to have to worry about her. And she _really_ didn't want to have to see more of that pity than she was already seeing.

"Raven, _please,"_ Clarke begged. "I'm fine, I promise. I just... I don't want to talk about it."

That hurt, but Raven knew better than to push her friend. It was hard to get Clarke to open up when things were serious, and considering just _how_ serious this was, Raven knew that she wouldn't be able to convince her to talk. This was more than just something going on emotionally, though. She was _injured._

"You're hurt, Clarke..." Raven tried softly once more.

 _I'm fine,_ Clarke wanted to say. She didn't, though. Because she _knew_ that she wasn't fine, and she knew that Raven was well aware of that as well.

"I know," she opted instead, turning her head away just slightly again. Maybe a little bit of truth would be alright for now. "But Rae," she sighed, then paused, as if searching for the right words to say, or even just any words to say. She felt ashamed, she felt lost, she felt like a disappointment. She just didn't know what to say.

Raven could pick up on Clarke's embarrassment, though, and as much as she wanted to check to make sure that Clarke's injuries weren't too serious, she also knew how hard the blonde could be on herself and she couldn't bear to see the girl feel any shame in whatever had happened to her. Raven's stomach turned just thinking about it. What _had_ happened to her?

"Okay," Raven breathed, moving her hand to Clarke's shoulder. "Okay, we don't have to talk about it, C. Not if you're not ready."

Clarke met Raven's eyes, incredible, but heartbreaking, gratitude within them. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice threatening to betray her if she were to speak any louder.

Raven just offered her friend a small, sad smile and nodded. "Come here," she replied in a quiet voice as she opened her arms up, hoping that Clarke would at least be comfortable enough for a hug.

To Raven's relief, the she didn't even hesitate. Rather, she accepted Raven's embrace instantly, holding on tightly to her as she let out a shaky, emotional breath. It wasn't long before Clarke was practically clinging onto the back of Raven's shirt, sobbing silently into her chest. Raven could feel her own stomach flipping each time a quiet sob racked Clarke's body, and she gently ran her hand up and down the length of the blonde's back, hoping that she could be at least some source of consolation for her. Little did Raven know, this was the most comfort that Clarke had received from anyone in the past four months.

Clark wasn't really sure when or how they had wound up on the bed in her room down the hall. The exhaustion, mixed with the emotion and mixed with the pain, accounted for the 'lost time.' Raven wasn't even sure how much time had passed until Clarke's sobs had dwindled down from cries to the occasional sniffle. She herself was exhausted, despite having only shed a few tears, and she kept her hand on Clarke's back. The blonde was curled up into a fetal position, her head resting on Raven's lap, and the brunette couldn't even imagine what had lead up to this moment, what possibly could have happened to her best friend. She didn't _want_ to imagine it. But she feared it. She feared what _might_ have happened, what she knew she couldn't just ask, what she hoped she would never have to hear.

When Clarke did finally open her eyes, she took in a shaky, quiet breath. She didn't have the energy to get up, but Raven, aware that Clarke had now calmed down and that her eyes were open, brought her hand up to Clarke's head, rubbing her thumb along the back of her skull in an attempt to keep her comforted.

"It'll be okay," Raven whispered reassuringly, hoping that Clarke could sense the sincerity in her words. "We'll get through this, C. We'll get through this."

* * *

She woke up in a cold sweat, her eyes wide and her heart beating faster than any healthy human's heart should beat. She sucked in a deep breath, panic seizing her momentarily as she scanned her surroundings. The fear still consumed her, but when she saw where she was -the light grey walls, the black floating shelf across the room just above the dresser, the painting that hung next to the window- she managed to calm herself down. She knew where she was. She was home. She was safe. She didn't need to feel so afraid, she didn't need to feel so sick from the fear. But still, even twenty minutes later, there she was, sitting at the base of her bed with her legs dangling off the edge, well aware of the fact that she wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep.

Eventually, she glanced at the alarm clock that sat on the nightstand. _2:13 AM._ She tried to think about what time it had been when she'd gotten back to Raven's place. It couldn't have been any later than ten at night, she figured. She wasn't sure when she'd fallen asleep, but that probably couldn't have been any earlier than midnight, or maybe even one in the morning, which meant that Clarke had gotten about a solid hour of sleep, if even that. She let out an exhausted sigh. What else could she have expected, anyway?

She bit her swollen lip, ignoring the pain that it caused to do so. She felt guilty for even being there. She hadn't spoken to Raven in four months. She'd left suddenly, harshly, and without any _real_ reason, and as much as Clarke wished she could come up with some sort of justifiable excuse, she knew that there was no excusing her sudden disappearance. It hadn't been fair to Raven. It hadn't been fair to Octavia, or to Bellamy, or to any of their friends. And now here Clarke was, back in her old room, barging right back into their lives when she really didn't deserve any forgiveness, or for things to go back to normal.

 _Normal._

She bit her lip harder at the thought. Things definitely weren't 'back to normal,' and she knew that they probably never would be. Too much had changed, too much had _happened._

Still, though, she couldn't help but feel guilty when she thought about the position that she'd put Raven into. What was Clarke even thinking, just showing up at the door like that? Raven hadn't been giving any warning. She hadn't even been given the opportunity to say no to helping Clarke. Clarke didn't even give her a real choice, she'd just barged right on into Raven's life again, and she Raven didn't deserve that. Raven didn't deserve to have to take care of a sobbing Clarke, or to let Clarke stay, even if it might only be fore a few days. If anything, Clarke was the one who owed Raven. She was the one who should have been doing something for the brunette. Not the other way around.

She shook her head light, pushing herself up off of the bed. Sure, it was two in the morning, but she didn't really feel like she was getting much sleep anyway. She settled on the idea of going to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Raven should have been asleep in her own room by now, and Clarke didn't exactly mind the idea of sitting back down in that kitchen, just knowing that she was back at home, even if it wasn't _her_ home anymore.

She opened the door quietly, then padded down the hallway softly on bare feet, hoping she wouldn't wake Raven. When the blonde noticed the light from the kitchen area that illuminated a small section of the hallway, though, she stopped in her tracks as she heard Raven's soft voice.

"Yeah, no, I just didn't know how to react," Raven sighed sadly.

When she continued again after a brief silence, Clarke decided that the brunette was probably on the phone. She hadn't planned on eavesdropping, but when Clarke heard Raven's tone, and when she heard Raven sniffle, it instantly felt wrong for her to intrude on the moment just for a glass of water. She couldn't quite pull her away from the wall either, though.

"You didn't see her, O," Raven's voice cracked. "If you'd been here, I-" she stopped, sniffling again, and there was a brief moment of silence before she spoke up again. "No. No, I don't think so. It looked serious, O. She didn't tell me what happened, and I'm not gonna push it. Not yet, at least. But if she tries to tell me that it's 'not a big deal' just like she always does, I..."

She trailed off, sighing once more, and Clarke bit her lip once more. She knew that it was wrong to stand there and to listen to Raven's conversation with Octavia, but at the same time, they were talking about _her._

"I'm just _scared,_ Octavia," Raven breathed softly after a minute. "Yeah, I was pissed that she left. And you know, I still am. It's not like all of a sudden I just don't care about everything that's happened. But Jesus, O, I'm worried about her, about where she's been. About what-" Raven stopped, her voice catching in her throat, and after a brief moment she continued in a lower, more serious voice. "About what _happened_ to her."

Clarke's heart stopped as she heard Raven's words. Yeah, obviously Raven was going to wonder. Obviously she was going to care -it was _Raven_ after all. But Clarke didn't _want_ Raven to have to deal with that. She didn't want her best friend to have to worry about what had happened to her. She didn't want her to have any idea, let alone _know_ , what had happened.

She took a deep breath, collecting herself so that she just appeared to be casually walking into the kitchen, and rounded the corner.

"Oh, hey," Clarke spoke, attempting to look surprised that Raven was awake as she walked through the dining room over toward the open kitchen.

Raven's eyes widened for a moment, like she was worried about what Clarke might have overheard, before she gave Clarke a small, concerned expression. "Clarke, you should be sleeping," she said. "Hang on."

"O, I gotta go, I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" Raven hung up the phone a second later.

"Clarke, it's two in the morning," Raven spoke, eying the blonde nervously as she walked over to one of the cabinets.

Clarke offered Raven a small facade of a smile. "I just need some water," she replied quietly. She reached up and opened the cabinet door where the glasses had always been when she'd lived with Raven. Instead of glasses, however, Clarke was met with plates and bowls.

Raven didn't miss the confusion on Clarke's face, and seeing the small sense of a sorrowful realization on Clarke's face felt, once more, like a punch to the gut, even for the brunette who, previously, had quite ordered the girl to get off of her doorstep.

"Here," Raven offered, climbing off of the barstool and opening a different cabinet. She pulled down a glass cup, filled it with water, and handed it to Clarke. She met the blonde's eyes and offered her a small, sad, and just slightly apologetic friendly smile. "I, uh, I might've done a little rearranging," she explained. "it was... a long couple of months, and I guess a few things just changed."

Clarke's eyes moved to the floor as she nodded. "Yeah," she whispered, her mind drifting.

A lot more than the location of a couple of glasses and dishes had changed, and Clarke was well aware of that. Additionally, she was even more aware of the fact that she was the reason for most of the changes. Still, though, Raven was allowing the blonde to stay in her home, to drink her water, to sleep in one of her beds. Clarke didn't know how to even tell the brunette what was _really_ going on in her life. She didn't know how to tell her about where she'd been for the past four months, or about why she hadn't even attempted communication, or about what had happened to her. Why her lip was split and her eye was swollen. She didn't know how to tell her how goddamn grateful she was that Raven had offered to let her stay at the townhouse as long as necessary. She didn't know how to thank the brunette for being there for her, even when Clarke, already, probably wasn't making it a very easy task. But she did know that she had to try.

"Raven," Clarke said, her voice a little shaky as she looked up, meeting the brunettes eyes with her own. There was raw emotion present in the blonde's deep blue eyes, and Raven just raised her eyebrows softly, knowing that whatever about to tell her, it was serious. Genuine. "Thank you."

* * *

Okay, so I know this probably already seems like a bit of a slow-burn (which it will be), but I'm planning on introducing Lexa in the next chapter. Anyway, yeah. I hope you guys can enjoy. Often times I haven't been a fan of AU stories for this particular show, but more recently I've found myself enjoying them _a lot,_ so I figured I might give it a try. So, for those of you who are interested, please do leave a review. It's very appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke had managed to get through another few hours of sleep, and when she woke up to the scent of freshly brewed coffee, she let out a quiet, tired sigh. She opened her eyes and blinked a few times to clear her vision, then looked to the alarm block. It was a few minutes past eight o'clock, and the sun had managed to seep into her room just slightly through the cracks in her blinds. Her body ached, and she wasn't quite sure whether that was due to the exhaustion or the actual physical pain. Her head, too, was pounding, and she knew that it was probably due in part to the fact that she'd hardly eaten anything in the past two days.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes groggily. She was wearing a large crewneck sweatshirt that hung comfortably down to her thighs, along with a pair of joggers. Raven had given Clarke something more comfortable to sleep in a few hours prior, and Clarke had to admit, the comfort was probably the only reason why she'd even been able to get back to sleep. The comfort of the clothes, and the comfort of her own bed. After taking a moment to collect her thoughts and to remind herself that, maybe, she didn't have much to worry about with Raven, Clarke pushed herself up off of the bed and stepped into the hallway. The smell of bacon and eggs filled Clarke's nostrils, and she closed her eyes as she took in a breath, her mouth just watering slight. God, she'd forgotten what it was like to wake up to that smell. She yawned softly as she turned the corner of the hallway into the living room.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw that it wasn't just Raven who was in the kitchen. While Raven was standing at the stove cooking an omelet, Octavia was perched on the bar stool at the opposite side of the counter. Both women turned to face Clarke at the same time, and it was clear that neither of them had expected her to be up so early.

Octavia, although Raven had already told her about Clarke's bruises, dropped her jaw slightly when she actually saw the injuries in person. The girl's right eye was dark and swollen, and a deep purple bruise was painted over the blonde's cheekbone. Her lip was split on the left side, still swollen as well, and there was a decent size laceration on her other cheek bone, along with a smaller one on her forehead as well. Sure, she'd known that Clarke was hurt, and she'd heard from Raven that it appeared to be pretty bad, but still she hadn't been prepared to see _how_ bad it actually was.

She snapped out of it, though, instantly knowing Clarke well enough to know that the blonde wasn't exactly a fan of pity, or of being looked at 'differently.' Sure, Octavia and Raven would talk to Clarke eventually, and they would try to convince her to tell them what had happened and who had hurt her, but for now, she knew that a little bit of normalcy would probably be beneficial to the girl.

"Hey, Clarke," Octavia said softly, offering her friend a small, warm smile as she hopped off of the barstool.

The blonde looked like a deer in headlights, and Raven immediately caught onto why. Clarke hadn't expected anyone else to be there, and she certainly hadn't expected to see Octavia. The blonde left them all on bad terms, and she probably expected some sort of back-lash, some sort of hatred or even just mild anger, from Octavia. She was probably just worried that, maybe, Octavia wouldn't be as welcoming as Raven had been.

She opened her mouth, not even sure what to say, then closed it. Her stomach turned slightly and she willed herself not to let it affect her, not to get emotional again.

"Hey," was all she could breathe out. She cast a quick glance to Raven, then back to Octavia, then to Raven once more.

"I didn't think you were going to be up this early," Raven apologized as she moved the egg onto a plate on the counter, knowing that Clarke hadn't expected Octavia to be there right when she'd woken up. "I was planning on letting you sleep a bit more before I'd tell you that O is here."

Octavia stepped forward, wrapping a surprised, but then incredibly relieved, Clarke up into a warm hug. "I've missed you, Griffin," she breathed quietly.

Clarke just nodded, her own arms wrapped around Octavia as well. She hadn't been blind to the look of pity and of horror that had crossed Octavia's face initially, but she had also noticed the way that the brunette had almost immediately covered up her own worries with an almost-casual smile. Octavia was clearly aware of the fact that Clarke didn't respond well to pity, and while the blonde knew how concerned, worried, and understandably still pissed she was, she genuinely appreciated the fact that Octavia was already making an effort to treat her normally. For Clarke, that meant more than the world.

* * *

Clarke let out a quiet moan after taking another bite of the omelet, closing her eyes and savoring the flavor. "God," she breathed after a minute, "I forgot what real food actually tastes like."

The two brunettes couldn't help but grin slightly. The conversation at the kitchen counter for the past ten minutes had been simple and casual. Raven complained about work, Octavia shared the brief details of a date that she'd had the previous night, and Clarke had remained comfortably silent for most of it, nodding or mumbling a word of agreement now and then. It was good, for both of the brunettes, to see her enjoying something by this point.

"Eat as much as you want," Raven chuckled, her plate towards Clarke, giving the blonde the last half of her omelet. "I have to be at work in less than thirty minutes and if I want enough time to grab some coffee, I'm gonna have to leave like, now."

"Breakfast of champions," Octavia responded with her mouth full.

Clarke furrowed her brow slightly. "Work?" she questioned, confused. "It's a Sunday, I thought you only work during the week?"

"Nope," Raven shook her head as she stood up. "Sinclair's got me busting my ass on a new project, and I need the extra hours anyway." She wasn't about to say it, but she needed the extra hours because for the past four months, she had been the only person paying the rent for the townhouse. That could be a subject for later, though.

Clarke just nodded, taking another bite of her breakfast, and while her eyes were away, the brunettes shared a look. Octavia nodded seriously, understanding what Raven was trying to communicate with her. The two were both worried about Clarke and er well-being. Not only were they worried about Clarke's real reason for leaving them four months prior, but now they were exceptionally worried about her mental, physical, and emotional state. What had _happened_ between the time that she'd left and now? Why hadn't she responded to phone calls, or to text messages? Why had no one -not even her mother- known where she'd gone? Why had she just suddenly shown up, practically battered, at the doorstep? Was she in danger? Clearly she'd been hurt, but how badly? And by who? While both women knew that pressuring Clarke to talk about it all at once wouldn't be the best decision, and it wouldn't entirely be fair to her, but they also knew that they needed to talk with her as soon as possible. So, understandably, Raven had asked Octavia if she could be there that morning, specifically so that _she_ could ask Clarke about these things while Raven was at work. Octavia could typically remain level-headed much better than Raven, and Clarke would probably be more comfortable talking to only one of the women at once. Plus, Octavia wasn't one to take "no" or "I'm fine" as an answer, and when she was determined to do something or to find something out, she was firm in her determination. And Clarke knew that. Octavia would probably have a better chance than Raven would at getting the blonde to talk.

"I'll see you later!" Raven called out a few minutes later, throwing on her red leather jacket as she walked quickly out the front door. She shut the door behind her, and Octavia looked back toward the blonde, giving her a small, but still sad, smile.

"You know I really have missed you," she spoke softly, sighing quietly as she shook her head lightly. "I'm still not even sure what happened, and I don't even want to talk about it yet, but I really did miss you, Clarke. A _lot."_

Clarke bit her lip as she looked down at her plate, her brow furrowing once more. She nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah," she whispered after a few tense seconds, fighting the way her stomach turned. "I missed you too." She looked up, making eye contact with Octavia. "And I _am_ sorry," she continued a moment later. "For leaving, I mean. I shouldn't have just-"

"Hey," Octavia interrupted gently. "We don't need to worry about that right now, okay? I'm just glad you're back." She smirked. "I was worried I would have to deal with Reyes all alone for the rest of my life."

Clarke chuckled lightly, shaking her head in slight amusement as she pushed some of the food around her plate with a fork. The levity of the conversation had certainly eased some of Clarke's nerves, but she had a feeling that the happy tone wasn't going to last. As much as she didn't want to be prodded with questions, or concern, or anything of the like, she knew Octavia's protective nature well enough to be sure that there were bound to be questions. Especially now that the two were alone.

"I do want to talk to you about something, though," Octavia finally admitted, her tone much more serious but still caring.

 _There it is,_ Clarke thought silently to herself as she inhaled a deep, nervous breath. She had a pretty good idea of what Octavia wanted to 'talk' about, and as much as she hated herself for it, a large part of her wanted to lie. A large part of her wanted to be dishonest about it all, to somehow attempt to convince her concerned friend that there was nothing to be concerned _about._ At the same time, though, she knew that she owed the brunette some honesty, and she knew that Octavia wasn't dumb enough to fall for whatever lie Clarke could try to tell her. Octavia could read Clarke like a book -she'd always been able to- and Clarke didn't have the energy to lie when she knew that doing so would be useless.

"Uh oh, you're not about to tell me you're pregnant or something, are you O?" Clarke replied, attempting to make some sort of joke that might deflect from the conversation that was about to take place. She knew that it was useless, and she knew that Octavia would know exactly what she was trying to do, but it was worth a shot.

"Clarke," Octavia sighed heavily, tilting her head slightly as she eyed her friend with slight frustration. "I'm serious."

Clarke's shoulders slumped as she looked back to her food, pushing the eggs around with her fork. Her appetite was diminished, now, and she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with her friend sitting across from her. She didn't want to talk about it, and she didn't want to see the way that Octavia was looking at her.

"Look, O, it's not that important, I-"

"If this wasn't important," Octavia asserted, "then you wouldn't be staring at your plate instead of looking at me. _Talk to me,_ Clarke. What's going on? What happened?"

"You don't need to worry about me, Octavia," Clarke pleaded, finally looking up to meet Octavia's gaze.

"Like hell I don't, Griffin," Octavia replied, nearly scoffing at what the blonde had just said. "You're fucking _hurt_ , and you showed up at Raven's door in the middle of the night damn near having a panic attack. Of course I have to _worry_ about you."

Clarke shut her eyes tightly, turning her face toward the counter as she clenched her jaw, making every attempt to fight off the tears that were threatening to fall. She let out a shaky breath, shaking her head as she swallowed the massive knot in her throat. She knew that there was no escaping this conversation, but God, she didn't want to have it. She didn't want Octavia to look at her differently, or to feel bad for her, and honestly, Clarke just didn't want to say the words out loud. She didn't want to _actually_ say what was going on, because that would make it all too real, and Clarke didn't _want_ it to be real.

At least half a minute passed, and Octavia bit her lip hard, not sure what to do or what to say. Clarke seemed to realize that she wasn't about to get out of this conversation, but she also seemed absolutely lost, absolutely distressed. Like she wasn't sure what to say, or how to say it. Like she had so much to say, but no way to actually say it. The brunette let out a stressed sigh and ran a hand through her hair, trying to think of what she could say or do to make this easier for her blonde friend.

"First just tell me this," Octavia tried, catching Clarke's attention, "and be honest with me, Clarke... Is it as bad as it looks?"

Clarke's expression faltered and there was an unanticipated and chilling amount of sorrow and fear in the girl's eyes as she struggled to answer immediately. The blonde sucked in a quick, unsteady breath of air before pursing her lips and nodding emotionally. Her lip quivered as she looked the brunette in the eyes, and when the girl spoke, Octavia's heart broke once more.

"It's bad, O." She barely got the words out, her voice unsteady and strained. "It's _really_ bad."

Octavia could feel herself getting emotional as she looked on at the blonde sitting in front of her. Clarke's features were a mixture of fear, hurt, shame, and frustration. The girl's eyes held so much pain, and Octavia's heart ached for her friend. She knew that someone had to stay in one piece for this conversation to continue, though, so she willed herself to stay stable. It was the least she could do. Clarke needed someone to listen to her, to actually make her talk, to provide a steady support, and Octavia knew how to keep her composure.

"Then talk to me," Octavia spoke gently, extending her hand palm-up across the kitchen counter. "Let me be here for you."

Clarke nodded and grabbed Octavia's hand in her own as she squeezed her eyes shut, letting only a few tears fall down her face. The brunette was painfully aware of the way the blonde's hand trembled in her own. Clarke let out a shaky breath, opening her eyes and looking upwards as she attempted to calm herself down. After a minute or two and after swiping away a few tears with other hand, she spoke again.

"There's a guy," she started, trying to keep her voice strong as she avoided making eye contact with Octavia. She wasn't going to give Octavia all of the details, but she knew that she had to be relatively honest. She knew that Octavia had always been able to tell when she was lying, but there was still a lot that Clarke wasn't willing to say -that she wasn't ready to say.

"We met at some bar somewhere," Clarke continued as Octavia listened intently. "We hooked up, and at first there wasn't really much more to it than that. I thought he was just gonna be a one-night-stand, and then we saw each other again at the same place the next night, and we were both drunk, and before long it was pretty much a nightly thing. There wasn't anything special with it, you know? I didn't _really_ feel any emotional connection with him or anything. I just needed a way to get my mind off of everything, and that's what he provided. So it kind of just became a thing. We'd both get wasted, I'd wind up going to his place, we'd fuck, and that would pretty much be it. He seemed like a nice enough guy and everything at first. He didn't push to go out or anything, he didn't ask about my personal life, he didn't even know my last name until we'd been getting together for a week or so."

She took a breath, and Octavia gave her hand a light, supportive squeeze. Even what Clarke was already telling her was concerning. The blonde had never been one to really get drunk more than one or two times a week at most, and Octavia had never heard of the girl having a one-night-stand any other time before.

"Then one morning when I woke up at his place," she continued, "we talked, and I mentioned that I'd been staying at some motel, and he kind of just offered to let me crash with him for a while. I didn't think to much of it, 'cause I mean, I still thought he was a decent guy. I thought that maybe he was just being nice, or maybe he just wanted, like, a more permanent booty call or something. And I mean, he's got a _nice_ apartment, so of course I couldn't turn it down. I wasn't going to be able to afford the motel for much longer anyway. Then after a week or so, I was out drinking at that bar, and it didn't seem like he was going to show up, and some other guy who had been eying me up offered to buy me a drink, and I don't even know how it happened, but we wound up making out and then that's when he showed up. He just got pissed. He punched the other guy, then he basically just told me to head back to the apartment. And I was already drunk off my ass, so he just ended up bringing me back."

Clarke paused, swallowing hard, and Octavia just gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. Her own heart was beating violently in her chest, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to hear where Clarke's story was going. The guy she'd been talking about had already seemed sketchy enough from the start, but now, she was terrified to hear what this guy had done to her friend, even though she had a pretty sure idea of what it was.

"That was the first time he hit me." Clarke's voice was cold as she stared straight ahead, her eyes glazed over with a haunted expression. "To be honest, I was too drunk for me to remember most of what happened. I just know that when I woke up the next morning, I was on the kitchen floor and my jaw was killing me."

" _Clarke,"_ Octavia breathed, heartbroken as she looked on at her friend, who now looked absolutely drained of emotion. She wanted to say something, to do something, to help the blonde, or to make her feel better. She didn't know what to say, though, or what to do.

She shook her head firmly, letting out an empty sigh as she cut off the brunette with the simple gesture. Octavia only felt herself grow more worried at the way Clarke had basically seemed to turn off her emotions. She'd gone from reluctant to talk, to nearly crying, to basically honest but emotionless, and as much as Octavia knew the blonde, she'd never seen her act like this. She couldn't imagine how bad it must have actually been for Clarke to appear this detached as she spoke.

"It is what it is," she exhaled dismissively. "Anyway, like I said, I'd been too drunk the previous night to even remember most of what had happened, and I was already stuck enough as it is, so I couldn't just _leave._ Yeah, the guy ended up being more and more of an asshole with each day, but at least he was the one keeping a roof over my head." She sighed, shaking her head. "It was stupid. I should've know that it would happen again -I think a part of me _did_ know. I was just so stuck, and I'd figured that it wouldn't ever get _too_ bad... then he just kept getting worse and worse. He'd get pissed when his place wasn't clean enough, and when his dinner wasn't made. If we were at the bar, he'd get pissed whenever someone would hit on me, even if I hadn't initiated or encouraged it at all. He'd hit me around -nothing too bad, just a punch here and there- and I thought I could deal with it. Then that same fucking guy from the first time showed up, and he wouldn't back off, so it all just happened again. I tried to explain that I hadn't even been interested in the guy, but as soon as we got back to the apartment, he just started screaming at me, telling me I'm a whore and that I'm not appreciative enough of him."

Clarke's jaw was clenched, and in her eyes, Octavia could see anger, loathing, pain, and some slight horror.

"I passed out while he was still beating me, so I'm not even sure how long it had lasted. It hurt worse than any of the other beatings, though, so I know it was bad. Drinking helped with most of the pain, though, so I just started drinking more, which he liked, because the drunker I got, the easier it was for him to actually get me into bed."

Clarke shut her eyes, shaking her head lightly once more, and Octavia held onto the blonde's hand tightly. She hadn't even realized that a few tears had fallen from her own eyes until muscle-memory had caused her to swipe some away. Jesus, she'd assumed that Clarke had had it pretty bad, but this was worse than she'd imagined. Clarke hadn't just been beaten once. It hadn't been a one-time thing. This was _bad,_ and Octavia prayed that there wasn't much more left to the story. Clarke had already been through enough.

"Like I said, it just got worse with more time," Clarke sighed, running her free hand through her hair. Her eyes were wet, now, and her voice seemed to shake, a sign to Octavia that there was something else that Clarke wasn't exactly up for talking about. She wouldn't push her, though. She'd already been told a lot, and she wasn't even sure that she could digest much more of the information.

"Then yesterday morning, he woke up and he was pissed at me -not even for any real reason, I think he was just in a shitty mood. He hit me, then I told him something that he didn't like, and he just kept hitting me, and he just-" she sighed, biting her lip. She wasn't going to say any more than that -she was't ready to- and she'd already said enough. "It was bad. He left to go down to the bar at one point, and I knew that I was only fucking myself up by staying there, so when I knew he was gone, I left. And I just... this is the only place I have, Octavia. You, and Raven? You're the only people I've got... Even if I fucked things up between us, I... This is the only home I have..."

The hesitation in Clarke's voice throughout the end worried Octavia. She knew that the blonde was hiding _something,_ and she knew that it probably would have been right for her to ask what it was, but at the same time, Clarke had just confided something unexplainably heavy in the brunette, and Octavia knew that it would be wrong to force Clarke to talk about it any more than she already had. Jesus, the girl had been through enough, and more than anything, she deserved a break now.

The fact that Clarke had clearly made such a persistent habit of drinking scared Octavia as well. Clarke had never really been the greatest fan of alcohol beforehand, and it was worrying that the blonde had managed to make it 'pretty much a nightly thing.' Octavia wasn't going to peg Clarke to be an addict, but she'd certainly had an issue, and there were definitely reasons _behind_ that issue, some of which Octavia didn't know about.

"Of course you have a home here," Octavia breathed, standing up and walking around the kitchen counter so that she could sit down in the seat next to Clarke. "You _always_ have a home here, Clarke. Hell, this _is_ your home."

She wrapped the blonde up into a tight embrace, and Clarke fortunately reciprocated, uttering a meaningful "thank you" and shedding a few more silent tears. Octavia ran her hand up and down Clarke's back in a calming manner, and the blonde only shed a few more tears before pulling back with a soft sigh.

"Clarke," Octavia asked softly, knowing that the girl probably wouldn't appreciate what was about to be asked. "You said you just left. That means this guy is still out there, right?"

The blonde nodded, her eyes now fearful. What if he were to find her? What if he were to hurt her _worse_ than he already had? What if he were to hurt her friends? What if he were to-

"He doesn't get to get away with this," the brunette insisted, gently while all at the same time still firm. Her brother was a police officer -and a well-respected one at that- and Octavia knew that with her brother's help, the bastard could most likely be tossed very easily right into a prison cell. She was just worried that Clarke's fears would interfere with what was logically the best decision, and even worse, that her _loyalty_ to this guy might interfere with what she needed to do. "Clarke, this isn't _okay._ You deserve-"

" _Stop,"_ Clarke interrupted, her voice stone cold, sending chills down Octavia's spine. The brunette stopped speaking immediately, and Clarke looked her boldly in the eyes. " _Please_ , you can't tell Bellamy, Octavia. You _can't._ "

* * *

Okay, I know that this chapter might have been relatively heavy, and I know that this has probably been pretty drawn out. But I _promise_ that I will definitely be introducing Lexa in to the next chapter. Anyway, yeah, that's what I've got for you so far.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone. Thanks so much for all of the feedback/reviews. I know it's taken a while for me to update, and I know that this chapter is the shorter one so far, but I promise that I already have much more to come. Anyway, I own nothing but the plot and the setting, and please enjoy:

* * *

"Hey, uh, I'm gonna head out for a bit," Clarke said as she stepped into the sitting room.

Octavia was sitting against the armrest of the couch, her eyes fixed on the TV as she watched a previously recorded episode of _The Bachelorette_. After talking a few hours ago to her about telling Bellamy about the situation -something that Clarke still wasn't budging about at all- Octavia had let Clarke head back to her room, the blonde having said that she was exhausted and needed to take a nap. Upon the blonde's sudden reappearance and her desire to leave the house, the brunette turned around, her brow furrowed. She gave her friend an odd, and concerned, look. It didn't make sense as to why Clarke would want to be leaving the house, and Octavia's worries immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion. The brunette, praying that she was wrong in believing that Clarke might have been planning on going back to see the bastard who had hurt her, spoke up.

"Where are you going?" she questioned, trying to keep her question as casual as possible. She didn't want Clarke to feel like she was being interrogated.

"Just out," Clarke replied dismissively, _too_ dismissively for Octavia's comfort. "I just need some air." Octavia looked at her questioningly, and Clarke rolled her eyes, giving the brunette a small, somewhat sheepish smile. "I'm just going to go out and get something to eat, take a walk. That's all, O."

"Well I'll go with you," Octavia shrugged. "I could probably use a break from all this reality TV anyways."

Clarke sighed lightly, giving her friend an appreciative but also apologetic smile. "Octavia," she explained softly, biting the corner of her mouth. The brunette sat up, aware of Clarke's tone, and gave her friend a curious look. "I really just need to go out by myself for a bit... Clear my head, you know?"

Octavia frowned, looking mildly disappointed, but nodded nevertheless. She understood why Clarke would need some time alone, some _space._ Hell, the blonde would probably need her space fairly often for a while. After all, she'd been through a horrible ordeal that Octavia didn't even have the heart to imagine. She was unaware of much of Clarke's pain, but she knew without a doubt that the blonde would need some time -and space- to really cope and come to terms with everything that had happened. The brunette could only hope that Clarke would accept her and Raven's help, company, and support as well.

"Yeah," Octavia nodded, settling back into her previous position on the couch. "I get it. Just be careful, okay? Call me if you need anything, or if you end up deciding that you just want some company?"

Clarke gave her a weak smile and a simple nod as she opened the front door, ready to head out. "Alright," she agreed, although she knew very well that she wouldn't be calling Octavia. She didn't even have a phone. She had left it, along with most of her money and all of her other belongings, back at his apartment, which meant that she was probably never getting it back.

She left the townhouse and took a breath of air. She hadn't meant to turn down Octavia the way she had, but at the same time, Clarke just needed time to herself. She needed time to think through the events of the past twenty-four hours. She needed time to process it all, and to really come to an understanding of what was going to come next for her. Clarke had wasted the past four months of her life. She'd been lost when she'd left the townhouse, and she'd still been lost when she returned. She had no clue what to do next, or what the future held for her. If it even held _anything_ for her. She didn't have a job. She only had two definite friends, not knowing whether Bellamy or the others would ever trust her or want her in their lives again. She had no relationship with her mother. She was -and she was aware of it- at the very least a border-line alcoholic. She had no clue whatsoever what her next steps in life would be, and while she was relieved to finally be somewhere safe, she still felt as painfully empty as loss as she had for the last four months.

At some point during her walk, Clarke's mind went back to the apartment that she had stayed in for the past four months. Since arriving at the townhouse -with the exception of when she had spoken to Octavia- Clarke had tried her damnedest not to think about the apartment, or about the abuse that she'd endured. Now, though, without one of the brunettes to distract her and without feeling the comfort of walls around her, she couldn't stop her mind from falling back to the recent past. Her memories wandered to some of the worst nights, the worst moments of absolute abuse. Even while most of the injuries over the past four months had faded or healed entirely by now, she could still feel the memory of the pain of every hit, every kick, every shove.

She wasn't entirely sure how long she had been walking for, but judging by the way the sun was nearly ready to set, she figured that it must have been at least two hours or so. She had intended, initially, on finding some place to eat. Deep down, though, she knew that she probably wouldn't even be able to stomach anything, especially now that she was already nauseous just thinking about the turn that her life had taken in such short down. She glanced around, her mind already set on finding something else even if she refused to acknowledge how reckless she was being. It wasn't long before she found what she had been looking for, and she walked with purpose up to the door of the nightclub.

She knew that it was a bad idea before she even walked into the building. She knew that, now living with Raven and Octavia, there was probably a better way to deal with her pain, and with her confusion. She knew that alcohol was only doing her more harm than good, and she knew that once she started, she wouldn't be able to stop herself. But she was just too emotionally lost and she still had absolutely no hope for the future, so she let her addiction do the thinking for her instead of her head. Maybe the alcohol _would_ help her, temporarily. Maybe it would help her forget everything for a while, or maybe it would just leave her numb enough that she wouldn't _feel_ anything anymore.

She glanced around the place once she'd walked through the door. There weren't many others in the club, likely because it was a Sunday night, but the echoes of the upbeat electronic music that bounced against the walls provided the environment with a more lively atmosphere. Neon lights left the place dimly lit up, casting colorful hues onto the faces of the fifteen or so people in the place. Clarke figured that on other nights, especially Fridays and Saturdays, the nightclub probably had a much larger and much more enthusiastic crowd than the one that she was witnessing now.

Her eyes caught the bar farther toward the left and she let out a quiet huff of air as she walked over to it. There was only one woman working behind the bar, and her stern expression and tight lips gave Clarke the impression that she wasn't much of a talker, not tonight at least. That was a relief to Clarke. The last thing she wanted at the moment was to hold a conversation with anyone, so for the time being, a silent barkeep was an ideal barkeep.

Clarke sat down onto the barstool, letting out a quiet but heavy sigh as she did so. There was now going back now, and she knew it. The woman working behind the bar turned to look at Clarke, raising an eyebrow and looking the girl up and down.

"You're here alone, or you're waiting for someone?" the woman asked her, sounding entirely uninterested as she continued to dry out a glass with a hand towel.

"Just me," Clarke shrugged.

The barkeep held back a judgmental scoff and chose instead just to nod at the blonde sitting across from her. People didn't often come to this club on Sundays, and they certainly never came alone. There were only ten other people in the establishment at that moment, and they had all come in two separate groups, the usual middle-aged men and women who simply wanted to just get together and have a couple drinks without having to deal with a crowd. The girl here, though, clearly wasn't here to meet up with anyone, or to have some fun. She was there for the drinks.

"Well what can I get you?"

Clarke looked at the woman's name tag. _Anya._ She shrugged her shoulders once more, her own disinterest now showing. "Something strong," she replied. "Surprise me, I don't care."

The stoic woman held back a smirk as she nodded, pouring the girl a drink. "Okay then," she muttered with slight amusement before setting the drink down in front of Clarke.

It wasn't long before Clarke started to loose track of time, or of how many drinks she'd ordered. The only time Anya spoke was when she was asking Clarke if she wanted anything else, and each time she asked, Clarke would ask for more. She'd already had enough to drink -she knew that. She was only hurting herself by drinking more, and she knew that, but she also knew how much she hurt _without_ the alcohol. Without the alcohol in her system, Clarke couldn't stop thinking. She couldn't stop _remembering_ everything, _feeling_ everything. At least when she was drinking, some of that went away. Instead of feeling everything, the alcohol let her feel _nothing_ for a few hours, and while she knew that it was damaging to her health, she just didn't care. She hardly cared about anything anymore.

Anya let out a quiet sign when the girl ordered another drink. While she wasn't going to let it show, she couldn't help but feel bad for the silent blonde sitting across from her. The girl just sat there, her expression dull and her eyes, at times, haunted. She had been there for over three hours already, and she still hadn't let up. Anya had had customers like this before -people who would drink to drown their sorrows, the ones who seemed to lack any kind of happiness within them- but something about this girl was different. She didn't seem bitter, she didn't seem to possess any ill-will. Quite simply, she just appeared to be lost, and maybe a little bit desperate for some sort of release. The girl didn't appear to be a drunk, and she While she had never really cared too much about her customers' personal issues, Anya couldn't fight the fact that she gave a damn about the emotional state of this one. In fact, the barkeep had stopped serving her alcohol already; while the customer was under the belief that she was being served spirits mixed into coke, Anya had spent the past forty-five minutes giving her plain Coca-Cola. Giving the blonde anymore alcohol would only be damaging.

It wasn't much longer until the place had cleared out. It was past midnight, and now the only customer left there was Clarke, who hadn't even seemed to notice -or who at least hadn't acknowledged- that the club was essentially closed. Anya didn't exactly know what to do or what to say, though. As unusual as it was for her to even care about a stranger too much, she couldn't quite bring herself to kick the struggling woman out.

"It's getting pretty late... must have been a rough day," Anya inquired as she set another drink down in front of Clarke. She covered up her curiosity, and concern, with a disinterested tone, casting only a side glance toward the blonde across from her. Maybe the woman would realize just _how_ late it was. Maybe she would realize that everyone else had already left the club, and maybe she herself would leave to head home. That would most likely be the best for her well-being, too.

Clarke shrugged, unaware of the time or the company. "I've had worse," she admitted, lifting the glass to her lips. Her expression hardened, then, and she glanced up to Anya, whose back was now turned.

"You usually have this much to drink?" the barkeep asked.

She wouldn't say it out loud, but she really was curious. She wouldn't have pegged the younger blonde to be an alcoholic. The girl seemed, for the most part, fairly composed, and Anya had seen drunks and addicts before. She knew their behavior, and their mannerisms. Sure, the woman across from her certainly seemed to lack much control over how she was drinking, or over her emotions, but it was hard for her to believe that she was _really_ an alcoholic.

Clarke shrugged once more. "I just drink whatever it takes," she muttered. She bit her bottom lip, shaking her head lightly as her eyes glazed over for a few seconds.

The barkeep spared a quick glance to her boss and best friend, who was sitting at the other end of the bar where customers normally sat. The brunette was working on paperwork, but her eyes were already there to meet Anya's, and the older woman didn't doubt that her boss had been listening in to any conversation that had gone down between Anya and the customer. Lexa had always been incredibly attentive, observant of whoever or whatever deserved concern, and if _Anya_ was concerned for the girl, she couldn't imagine what Lexa might be thinking. Her boss knew how to read customers -how to read _people_ \- and it didn't surprise Anya that Lexa was already wondering the same things that she was. Whatever the blonde was going through, it was serious, and her calm yet hopeless tone was alarming. Lexa just nodded at Anya, though, encouraging her to continue the conversation.

"Whatever it takes to _what?"_ Anya questioned, looking back to the blonde.

Clarke just looked up, meeting the barkeep's eyes and giving her a small, lonely smile. "To forget," she answered sadly but simply, as if it made all the sense in the world. She let out a quiet scoff, then, smirking as she glanced down to her drink. "It's stupid, though," she admitted with another shake of her head. She looked back at Anya. "The more I drink, the more I think about everything... but the less I drink, the more I _feel_ everything. So I can either deal with _remembering_ it all, or I can deal with the _reality_ of it all."

She shook her head again, looking back down at the counter of the bar. She knew that her words probably didn't make much sense -she was drunk and the barkeep wouldn't have any clue what she was saying, nor did she probably care. She didn't make any attempt to explain her words, though. It wasn't really worth it.

"But who really gives a fuck, right?" Clarke sighed with her sad grin, raising her glass slightly as she looked at Anya, who didn't really have any clue what to say.

The barkeep just offered her a strained, almost uncomfortable smile. She wasn't exactly skilled when it came to dealing with other people's emotions, and as concerned as she was for the stranger, she didn't know how to respond at all. She turned back to Lexa, then, her eyes wide in a ' _what the fuck am I supposed to do?'_ kind of expression. The brunette just motioned for her to come to her, then cast a more serious glance toward the customer.

"She needs to be cut off," Lexa whispered sternly but still civilly to her friend.

Anya nodded, rocking her jaw slightly as she leaned against the counter to be at eye-level with Lexa. "Yeah I've been serving her soda for the past hour," she muttered. "Lexa, what the hell am I supposed to do? We should've closed up fifteen minutes ago, and-"

"Don't worry about it," Lexa interrupted quietly with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You've been here long enough, I can close up. I just appreciate that you've been good to her." She nodded toward the customer. "She doesn't seem very... _okay_."

Anya raised her eyebrows, turning her head to send a quick glance to the blonde who was still sipping at her purely-Coca-Cola beverage. "Yeah," she mumbled quietly. She turned her attention back to her friend. "Are you sure you're okay to close up, though?"

"Yes," Lexa replied as she stood up, giving Anya a soft smile. "You've done enough. More than you usually would, at least," she laughed gently.

Anya gave her an appreciative, but exhausted, smile. "Thanks, Lex." She spared one more look toward the blonde. "And it's probably best that you call someone for her," Anya spoke, her voice hushed and more serious.

Lexa nodded, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I will," she replied genuinely. "Now go home, Anya."

Her friend and employee gave her one more tired, grateful smile before nodding and leaving, and Lexa turned her attention back to the blonde sitting at the bar. The girl seemed lost in her own world, sipping at the dark drink and gazing straight ahead. Lexa, like Anya, could immediately tell that the blonde wasn't in a good place, emotionally and literally. The bruises on the girl's face were enough to tell Lexa that she had been through, and was still going through, a lot. For now, though, she knew better than to pry. The blonde's business was her own business. Lexa, however, was prepared to put forth whatever effort it would take to ensure that the stranger would -at the very least- make it home safely that night.

* * *

Okay so fun fact: there was initially going to be a lot more in this chapter, specifically revolving around Clark and Lexa. Most of it is already written out. But I realized that it makes more sense to split it all up into two separate chapters, so that's the main reason why this chapter is much shorter.

Additionally: what are your opinions on Finn? Initially, I planned on adding him in as a not-very-likable character, but at the same time, I didn't hate his character in the show. Would you like to see him as a (basically) hated person in this story, or would you rather I just develop a new, temporary character instead? (If you would like more details in what I'm getting at, feel free to PM me. I just don't want to spoil the story for anyone at all).

Well, I hope you enjoyed. Please do leave a review. I appreciate any feedback, positive or negative, and I would love to see how you all feel about this story. I promise there is so so so much more to come.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey all. I know it's been quite a while, but life's a little hectic. Anyway, I'm alive and I promise I haven't given up on any of my stories. It's just hard for me to actually find time to write and update. But I'm hoping I'll be able to get the next chapter for this out sometime soon, so stay tuned? Maybe? I hope?

* * *

"I haven't seen you here before," Lexa stated as casually as possible whilst cleaning the glasses that had been used that night. She didn't receive a response, and she glanced toward the blonde. "Are you from around here?" She wasn't going to admit it out loud, but she was curious about the stranger.

Clarke had zoned out shortly after Anya had left, her mind wandering as she stared absently ahead. It wasn't until the brunette spoke up a second time that she even realized she had been spoken to.

"What's that?" Clarke asked, shaking her head lightly as if to snap out of whatever daze she had gotten lost in.

Lexa didn't acknowledge the blonde's brief absence. She looked the confused girl in the eyes, then repeated her question. "You're a new face here," she spoke more clearly, keeping her town as casual as she could manage. "Are you from near here, or?"

Clarke shrugged her shoulders as she held up her nearly empty glass. "Near enough," she supposed. She rolled her eyes at herself. "To be honest, I'm not even sure where 'here' is. I went for a walk and I guess this is where I ended up." It was true. Clarke wasn't even sure what path she had taken to wind up at the club. She'd still wound up there, though, and as long as she was getting some alcohol out of it, that was good enough for her.

"So you've never been here before?" Lexa asked, nodding thoughtfully to herself.

"Nope."

She nodded, a small smile playing on her face. "Yeah, I figured," she muttered softly as she turned her attention back to the glasses that she was hand-washing. "If you had been, you wouldn't have shown up on a Sunday night."

Clarke let out a small sigh and glanced around the club, only now realizing that no one else was around. She was, however, at the very least appreciative of the company, so she didn't bother leaving. If the bartender had wanted her to leave, she would have said so.

"It's a nice place," she shrugged, acknowledging the dark atmosphere, lit only by neon lights. The music was playing through the speakers scattered around the club, quieter now than before.

It really was an interesting environment. It wasn't huge, but Clarke wasn't much of a fan of large crowds anyways. Glass tables, some accompanied by barstools and others by leather seats, were spaced about. There was a decent sized, empty dance floor in front of a small platform that supported what Clarke assumed to be DJ equipment.

Lexa raised her eyebrows, somewhat amused as she gave the woman an unusual look. "A nice place?" she scoffed lightly. "It's a club. Not a restaurant. "

With the kind of crowd that the place typically garnered, Lexa would never have used the word 'nice' to describe the club. Over the course of the last few months, she herself had found herself growing less and less fond of the environment.

"No, really," Clarke defended, furrowing her brow somewhat. She looked around once more. "It's cool. Laid-back but still, I don't know, 'club-y' enough."

Lexa smirked, shaking her head lightly at what she assumed was just civil flattery from the blonde. The blonde seemed more talkative, now, which alleviated at least _some_ of the brunette's concerns. Maybe it was because of the change of company. Sure, Anya was a genuinely good person with genuinely good intentions, but her appearance and her mannerisms didn't exactly scream 'social' or 'kind.' Nor did her personality, now that Lexa took it into consideration. Regardless, it was almost relieving to Lexa to see that the blonde didn't appear to be entirely as somber as she had previously seemed.

"Trust me, you wouldn't find anything 'laid-back' about this place if you had to be here on a Friday night," the brunette chuckled softly, clicking her tongue.

Clarke cracked a small smile, nodding slowly as she glanced around. "You're probably right," she admitted as she took another sip of her drink. "My friends would probably love a place like this, though."

Her thoughts wandered to Octavia and Raven. The brunettes loved to party, and they loved to drink. Clarke could imagine Octavia, and _especially_ Raven, enjoying place if the crowd were bigger, and if things had been different. _Different._ If things had been normal between them, if Clarke hadn't left how she had, if so many things hadn't changed for the blonde, she could have imagined coming to a place like this with her friends. Now, though? She doubted that either of the women would want to go out with her the way they used to, and she knew that she probably wouldn't be able to hold her alcohol well around them anyway. Plus, even the idea of going out to 'party' was incredibly unappealing now, and it almost made her sick to think about.

"I'm not one to party, anyway. I only come to places like this to drink," Clarke joked dryly, softly shaking her head as she willed herself to stop thinking about how things had 'changed.' She lifted up her glass for emphasis, taking a sip.

Lexa bit her lip. A small part of her wanted to tell the blonde that her own amusement at her obvious poor treatment for her sorrows wasn't in the least bit funny, but Lexa also knew that this was the blonde's life, not her own. She wasn't about to lecture the stranger, not when she didn't even know _what_ she was going through. Not when she didn't even know how the blonde had gotten so apparently hurt, or, more importantly, who had hurt her. Instead, the brunette gave the girl a small smile and a dismissive shake of the head. She wouldn't attempt to give the woman a hard time. She wouldn't show any judgement to the woman who was clearly struggling enough as it was.

"What's your name?" Lexa asked a beat later, glancing at blonde as she remained visibly unfazed by the dry attempt at a joke.

"Clarke," she yawned. She took another sip of the drink, the glass now empty. She looked for a name tag on the woman, and when she found none, she furrowed her brow and a small frown formed on her face.

The brunette nodded, smiling as she noticed Clarke's confusion at the lack of a name tag. Typically, barkeeps wore one, and Clarke was understandably unaware of the fact that Lexa didn't exactly work behind the bar on a regular basis.

"Nice to meet you Clarke," she responded with a lighthearted shake of her head as she set a few of the newly cleaned glasses underneath the counter. She paused for a moment, finding slight amusement in the way the blonde waited curiously for her to say her own name. "I'm Lexa," she finally replied after enjoying the short moment. "Lexa Woods."

"Well, _Lexa Woods,"_ Clarke smirked, pushing her glass toward the brunette with one finger, "you know what would make us meeting even _nicer?"_ Lexa only raised her eyebrows, certain that she knew what Clarke was going to ask. The way the blonde lifted the empty glass only assured Lexa that she was correct.

Clarke smirked, almost cockily, as Lexa eyed her. She was drunk, and she knew that asking for any more to drink wasn't going to get her anywhere, but she figured she'd give it a shot. While the conversation with the brunette had turned her attention away from the heavier thoughts that had preoccupied her mind, the only _real_ distraction that she had was the alcohol. Even if it the power of her intoxication hadn't really increased in the past hour or so, she still preferred to be drinking _something._ She needed whatever distraction she could grab hold of.

Lexa sighed, biting her lip for a moment as she hesitated. She sure as hell wasn't going to give the blonde any more alcohol, but at the same time, she knew that it wouldn't be wise to give the stranger any sort of lecture at the moment. They had only just met, they had literally _just_ learned each other's names. Lexa _wanted_ to tell the blonde that she shouldn't be drinking, and she _wanted_ to ask what had happened to her, and why she seemed so hopeless behind the small facade that she was putting up, but she wasn't about to overstep. Yet.

"You're aware that you've been here for at least three hours, right?" Lexa asked with a quiet sigh as she turned her back to the blonde, filling the glass with soda.

"Closer to four," Clarke muttered, exhaustion beginning to show in her voice. "Probably longer," she added with a humorless chuckle.

The brunette shook her head slightly, biting her tongue. Clarke didn't even seem to care how long she had been there, or how much alcohol she had irresponsibly consumed. A part of her was _angry_ at the woman for the behavior, and as soon as Lexa recognized the feeling that was boiling in the pit of her stomach, she found herself confused. She'd had alcoholics at her club before. She's served them, she'd spoken with them, she'd had her bouncers escort them out of the place with no hesitation. She'd seen some pretty messed up people before, and usually, she didn't give a damn. So what was different about this blonde, this _stranger?_ Why was it that she _cared_ so much?

 _She's just a customer,_ Lexa reprimanded herself, refusing to give into the foolishness of caring too much about the woman. _Why are you so concerned? Just tell her the place closed half an hour ago and that she needs to leave._

She couldn't bring herself to kick the clearly desperate woman out, though. The blonde was likely too drunk to walk herself the length of a block, and Lexa knew all too well what a danger it would be for a woman to walk alone at this time of night in this neighborhood, let alone an _intoxicated_ woman. Plus, the blonde left her curious. It wasn't necessarily that Clarke was _mysterious,_ but there was something intriguing about her. Maybe it was the deep, blue eyes. Maybe it was the well-mannered way the blonde managed to carry herself, even when drunk. Or maybe it was something else. Lexa couldn't help but feel unexplainably drawn to the girl.

"You said you don't remember how you got here," Lexa spoke after a moment, turning back to place to glass down in front of Clarke. The blonde nodded. "It's getting pretty late," Lexa continued then, choosing her words carefully. Maybe, if she asked her questions the right way, she'd be able to learn more about the girl in front of her. "How are you expecting to get home?"

The blonde smirked, closing her eyes as she shrugged. She reached forward, grabbed her drink, and took a long sip. "I'll figure it out," she mumbled tiredly. "The city can't be that big, right?"

Lexa's eyes widened as she looked incredulously at the blonde, who was now contentedly nursing her drink. Clarke wasn't _actually_ considering walking home in this area, was she? No one could be that ridiculously stupid.

"Are you serious?" The brunette questioned, her tone more serious as she pulled over the small wooden stools on her side of the bar to sit down across from the blonde. She furrowed her brow, her concern only growing. "You're _not_ walking home in this part of town."

Clarke just shuffled. "There's not much else I can do," she replied simply. "I would call someone, but I don't exactly have my phone on me and I'm not the best at remembering phone numbers."

"You came to _this_ part of Polis without bringing your phone with you?" Lexa raised an eyebrow, her tone low. Did the blonde even understand how dangerous that was?

Clarke let out a short laugh in response, and Lexa just narrowed her eyes, confused as to what was so funny. It wasn't a _real_ laugh, though, which gave Lexa an uneasy feeling. The laugh was bitter. The girl's eyes held an image of sadness -or maybe it was hopelessness- and there was a hint of malice in her chuckle.

" _Liam_ has my phone," she spoke, a spark of anger flashing in her eyes for a few hot seconds as she shook her head, rocking her jaw. The blonde was momentarily unable to hold back the absolute hatred that she held for the man and the frustration that she was filled with. Normally, she would have been able to keep her composure, but right now, she was drunk and all too aware of how that bastard had messed up her life.

Lexa's stomach turned at the way the blonde said the man's name. Her eyes fluttered to the bruise on Clarke's cheek, and the gash, and the black eye. There was something about the way Clarke spat the foreign name out, the way her eyes held so much anger and _pain_. It was alarming, and the conclusion that Lexa instantly jumped to was sickening.

"Who's Liam?" Lexa spoke, her voice soft as she grabbed the blonde's attention.

The furry in the girl's expression dissipated almost entirely when she looked up at the brunette, but there was still an unmistakable sign of hurt in her eyes that Lexa hated to witness. She knew that she wasn't treading as softly as she probably should have been. While Clarke had managed, for the most part, to keep her composure throughout the night, Lexa also knew that the girl's drunken state left her volatile. After the witnessing a fraction of the magnitude of Clarke's emotions just seconds ago, Lexa knew that her next question had the potential to set Clarke off. She knew that she was overstepping, and she knew that she was jumping to tremendous conclusions, but something in her was overwhelmingly concerned for the blonde's well-being. Something screamed at her to ask Clarke. Something filled her with a crazy necessity to know _who_ Liam was, to know if her assumptions were correct. To, in some way, protect the blonde stranger sitting in front of her.

Clarke's jaw clenched and she looked down at the counter, shaking her head in an attempt to dismiss any of Lexa's worries. "Not someone you want to know," Clarke muttered, taking a solemn sip of her drink. "Don't worry about it." Her demeanor was changed, now. Her eyes were dull, her expression was stoic, her voice was nearly monotone.

" _Clarke,"_ Lexa tried again, leaning down slightly so that Clarke could see her and make eye contact with her. The blonde looked up at the brunette's whisper, blue eyes glazed over. "Who is Liam _?"_ Her voice was soft, but there was no mistaking how serious, how concerned, her words were.

Clarke tensed, but there was still no response.

Lexa glanced back at the girl's bruised cheek, and then back to her eyes, and then down to the split lip, and then back to her blue eyes. She was stepping over a line, and she knew that, but for some reason she felt as though she _needed_ to know. She didn't even know Clarke, but for some reason her heart ached for the woman in front of her.

Clarke swallowed the knot in her throat as she met Lexa's eyes. That was when she finally sobered up, at least temporarily. She hadn't noticed how _green_ the brunette's eyes were, or the sheer intensity of them. It was almost as though they held something greater than what can be imagined, some sort of unknown power or wisdom or gentle ferocity. It was almost like the woman's eyes held stories, tales of triumph and of struggle and of pain and of pride and of absolute magnificence, all at the same time. Deep blue stared into rich green, and Clarke noticed something else in Lexa's eyes -something deeper, and unexpectedly genuine- that almost stole the air from her lungs. There was such potent concern in her green orbs. Clarke hadn't expected to see something so bizarre, so unnerving, but at the same time comforting. She certainly hadn't expected it to come from a stranger, and she certainly wouldn't have expected any stranger to give a damn about her.

Her lips parted slightly, and she nearly found herself answering Lexa's question. _Nearly._ But no words came out, and panic seized her chest as she found herself so _mesmerized_ by the woman in front of her. Clarke's eyes darted from Lexa's green, then to her lips, then to her jawline, and then to her eyes once again. It had taken Lexa's raw concern for Clarke to momentarily sober up and to actually notice the absolute beauty of the woman who was now at eye-level with her.

Along with that beauty, though, there was something that terrified Clarke. It wasn't something malicious, or anything belligerently threatening. Instead, it was something that should have brought comfort to Clarke, something that _should_ have eased her fears. It was the _gravity_ of the woman's concern. It was the slope of the brunette's eyebrows, the way her face seemed paler now than it had moments before, the way her mouth remained open, awaiting anxiously for Clarke's response. There was nothing double-sided about the genuine worry that Lexa displayed for Clarke. There was nothing two-faced about the way Lexa seemed to truly _care,_ or about how softly she had spoken to Clarke, providing a brief, confusing sense of comfort. Still, though, it frightened Clarke. It frightened her because she didn't _want_ anyone to care, she didn't want anyone to try to _save_ her. She didn't want to hurt anyone, and she didn't _deserve_ saving. Having anyone care -even her best friends, to an extent- was terrifying, and the way that this stranger seemed to possess some sort of desire to help her sent chills down the blonde's spine.

 _Who is Liam_ _?_

The words echoed against the walls of Clarke's skull as her expression collapsed. Her breath caught in her throat and her jaw dropped. Her eyes flooded with confusion, and anxiety, and sorrow, and hurt, and even loss. Clarke knew that going out in public with the visible bruises that she had was bound to attract some looks from others, but she hadn't expected anyone to _give a damn._ And she sure as hell hadn't expected someone to care as much as Lexa seemed to, or for anyone to flat out ask her a question like that. What could she do? What could she _say?_ The way Lexa looked at her -the way the brunette's eyes flickered from Clarke's jaw to her forehead to her eye, and the amount of concern that she could _see_ in those eyes- was enough to tell Clarke that the brunette had figured it out. She couldn't form a response, though. She couldn't respond to the question that Lexa already seemed to know the answer to.

Lexa watched the girl falter. The blonde's blue orbs were a mix of horrible, heart-wrenching emotions, and while Lexa couldn't quite understand the intensity of her own question -why it had caused the girl to appear so suddenly broken- she now knew the _answer_ to the question. _Liam,_ whoever he was, was the one who had hurt Clarke, and now, Lexa felt an unexpected fury rise in her chest that she hadn't felt in years. She didn't even know this girl, and she didn't even know _who_ this Liam character was, but she already had an immense hatred for him. Anyone who could hurt Clarke as badly as was visible, and anyone who could cause someone to break the way Clarke seemed to shatter before her, deserved a hell of a lot more than simple hatred. She still couldn't help but feel somewhat guilty as well, though, for asking such a personal question. The blonde's demeanor had crumbled after Lexa pried, maybe somewhat too far, and the brunette couldn't help but feel horrible for having pushed so hard for an answer. Lexa was a stranger to Clarke, and the she was struggling between giving the blonde the privacy she respectfully deserved and her unexplained longing to help the stranger.

Clarke opened her mouth once more, but her lip quivered and no words emerged. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw, turning her face down as she tried to compose herself. She hadn't expected Lexa's hand to reach across the bar to grab her own, and she certainly hadn't expected to feel calmed in any way by the gesture.

"I'm sorry," Lexa whispered, her voice tender. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to, Clarke... I didn't mean to pry..."

The blonde looked up, surprised to find herself calming down with her hand in the brunette's. She swallowed the knot in her throat, nodding softly as she looked into the woman's solid green eyes. She could tell, just by the way Lexa looked at her, that she didn't need to talk for Lexa to know the truth about who Liam was. The brunette, however, seemed to mask any of the pity that she might have felt for Clarke, and that came as a relief to the blonde. There was compassion, there was remorse for prying, and there was even understanding, but there was no pity.

"Thank you," Clarke breathed gratefully, straightening herself up.

She took in a breath, then let out a quiet sigh. She pulled her hand away, feeling more awkward than uncomfortable, and reached for her drink. Lexa just gave her a small smile accompanied by a nod, and if she felt offended in any way by the way Clarke pulled her hand back, she didn't let it show.

The blonde finished her drink in short time as the brunette continued to clean up behind the bar, and while Lexa knew better than to mention it, she could see very clearly that the blonde was growing absolutely exhausted. Lexa grabbed Clarke's empty glass after a moment, turning her back to the blonde once more so that she could at least pretend that she was still giving the girl something somewhat alcoholic. She made no comment and showed no judgement as she began to pour another soda into the glass, but she stopped halfway when Clarke spoke up.

"You can stop pretending, you know," Clarke muttered, her eyelids nearly half shut as fatigue dripped from her voice.

Lexa lifted an eyebrow, turning to face the blonde. "Pretending what?"

Clarke just tilted her head to the side, raising her eyebrows as if to prove the point that she wasn't stupid. "I know it's just a Coke."

Clarke's tone, still, was wrapped with exhaustion, and Lexa let out a quiet sigh as she shook her head lightly at the blonde. This woman certainly held some sort of mystery about her. Especially concerning how she had continued to ask for drinks, Clarke had given Lexa no indication whatsoever that she had been keen to the fact that the drinks she had been given were non-alcoholic.

Clarke scoffed lightly, resting her chin in the palm of her hand as she looked lazily toward the barkeep. "I noticed about an hour ago," she explained, rocking her jaw somewhat. "I might be drunk, but I can still tell the difference between alcohol and soda," she smiled softly, noting the slightly surprised expression worn by the brunette.

Lexa just bit her lip and gave the blonde a small, tight smirk as she set the drink down in front of her. "You never said anything," she replied curiously, leaning against the edge of the bar as she narrowed her eyes at the blonde.

"Didn't see much of a reason to," Clarke admitted with a shrug. She glanced at the soda that had been placed in front of her. "I'm probably better off not drinking anymore anyway," she muttered, letting out a sigh. She knew without a doubt that her hangover would be brutal the next morning.

Lexa just nodded. She looked thoughtfully at the blonde for another moment, her eyes possibly lingering a moment too long, and then started cleaning up again.

"So there's no one I can call for you, you don't live near by, and you don't even _know_ where you are," the brunette started, placing glasses underneath the counter of the bar. "You do _have_ a place to stay, right _?"_ Lexa's words were spoken out of concern, but she kept her tone casual so as not to place the woman in another uncomfortable situation.

"Kind of," Clarke muttered, interrupting Lexa's thought process. Sure, she had a place -her old home- but she wasn't sure how long Raven was planning on letting her stay. The truth is, she wouldn't let herself believe that Raven would let her stay very long, or that she or Octavia were actually okay with putting up with her anymore. It wasn't that Clarke didn't trust her friends, she just didn't see why they would have any reason to actually help her out. She'd left them as though they'd meant nothing to her. She showed up, practically begging for a favor that she didn't even deserve. They didn't owe her anything.

"I'm staying with a friend," Clarke clarified a moment later, noting the curiosity in Lexa's eyes. She wasn't in the mood to explain anything more than that. She didn't have the energy, and she wasn't one to spill her sob story to a stranger.

Lexa held back from prying any further. She just nodded, letting out a silent sigh as she bit her lip. She was fully aware of the fact that Clarke was too desperately drunk to actually get herself back to wherever she lived. Plus, it wouldn't be safe for her to walk home alone, even if she lived relatively close. The blonde, while she still managed to keep her composure fairly well, was probably too intoxicated to even stand on her own feet for very long, and Lexa wasn't about to let her try.

"Okay then," she shrugged casually as she continued to clean up. "I can take you back to your friend's place once I lock up." Clarke lifted her head, surprise showing despite her drooping eyelids. She clearly hadn't expected the offer. "It shouldn't take long. I just have to finish tidying up the place."

"You don't have to-"

Lexa turned back to Clarke with an amused smile. "You're drunk," she replied with a chuckle. "So yes, I _do_ have to. And I'm happy to anyways. It's really no trouble, Clarke."

"I'm hardly drunk," Clarke argued light-heartedly, although part of her was convinced that she was well enough to get herself home.

"You're composed,"'Lexa countered with a smirk, "but you're drunk, Clarke." She sighed lightly, shaking her head as she glanced at the woman. "Let me drive you home."

"Are you sure?" Clarke asked, feeling somewhat bad that she'd even giving Lexa the impression that she needed help getting home. She hadn't meant to place any sort of burden on the brunette.

"Of course," Lexa shrugged, assuring the other woman that it was no big deal. "I'm in no rush to get home."

Clarke shot Lexa a grateful, tired smile, then sipped at her drink. The two remained in a comfortable silence for some time, Clarke lost in exhaustion and her own thoughts as she finished the remainder of the soda. Lexa cleaned up the bar, putting drinks and glasses in their proper spots and collecting any trash, then moved on to tidy up the rest of the club. Within a reasonable amount of time, the establishment was nearly spotless and Lexa made her way to the barstool next to Clarke. She studied the profile of the blonde for a moment, her eyes flickering over pink lips and the slope of the her jaw. Clarke's gaze was set absently on the shelf of drinks ahead of them, and for some reason, Lexa felt her heart fall a little bit when she saw the sadness -the pain- in those dazed blue eyes. There was something about this girl -this complete stranger- that filled Lexa with some sort of curiosity. Or maybe it was captivation? Lexa couldn't quite put a finger on it, and she couldn't understand it at all, but there was just _something_ about this woman that left her wanting to know more.

"Well, I'm about done here," Lexa stated after a moment, glancing around the place. "You ready to go?"

Clarke snapped out of her daze, turning her head toward the brunette and giving her a small nod. "As ready as I'll ever be," she muttered softly, lowering herself off of the barstool.

She knew for a fact that her welcoming from Raven and Octavia wasn't going to be as easy as it had been the night before. Not with the intensity of the stench of alcohol that was probably coming off of her right now. A part of her didn't even care, though. She was too intoxicated and numb and exhausted to even give damn, and way too intoxicated to even understand that they were probably worried about why her "walk" had lasted close to six hours at this point.

Lexa grabbed Clarke's empty glass that was still sitting there and reached over the counter to set it in the small sink. "Someone can get that tomorrow," Lexa spoke simply, tossing her washcloth onto the edge of the sink. She glanced around once more, as if to make sure that everything looked in place, then offered Clarke another warm grin. "Alright, we're good to go."

Clark let out a silent, tired sigh as she started walking with Lexa toward the exit. After just a few steps, though, she stumbled. Before she could hit the ground, though, Lexa instinctively reached out, catching the falling woman. When Clarke was standing again, Lexa looped one arm under the blonde's and left her hand on the woman's back for support.

"Thanks," Clarke mumbled softly, blushing with embarrassment.

Lexa just chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "Don't worry about it," she replied, somewhat amused by Clarke's behavior.

Clarke smiled slightly, comfortable with the way Lexa didn't even seem bothered by the fact that she needed her help. She stumbled once more when they were out the door, but Lexa was quick to steady the blonde.

"Maybe you were right about me being a little drunk," Clarke mumbled with a quiet laugh. She could feel Lexa's shoulders bounce as she chuckled lightly, and for some reason it left her feeling somewhat warmer. There was something about the woman's company that left Clarke feeling a little less consumed by the weight of her own life.

"Yeah," Lexa scoffed quietly, rolling her eyes in amusement, "maybe."

They walked around the side of the building to a decent-sized parking lot. The only car left in the lot was a green Jeep Wrangler, and Clarke couldn't help but let out quiet, drunken chuckle.

"Green jeep for the green-eyed girl," she mumbled quietly, mostly to herself.

Lexa didn't respond, but she smirked somewhat out of amusement and somewhat because of the fact that Clarke had even noticed her eye-color in her intoxicated state. Exhaustion was dripping from Clarke's tone, and Lexa was sure that the fact that the blonde was drunk had something to do with that.

Once they got to the car, Lexa practically had to lift Clarke into the passenger's seat of the vehicle. The brunette climbed into the driver's seat a moment later and smiled softly. Clarke's eyes were already closed and Lexa didn't doubt that the woman next to her was exhausted. The blonde definitely wouldn't have been able to walk back home herself.

"Alright Clarke, where am I headed?" Lexa asked, buckling herself in. She had no clue where Clarke was staying, and she wasn't even sure how far away Clarke's place would be.

"Hmm?" Clarke hummed tiredly, opening her eyes half-way to glance at Lexa.

"Where am I taking you?" Lexa asked, unable to hold back a warm, entertained smile.

Clarke nodded, closing her eyes. "You can just head out to the east side of Arkadia. Once we're in the district I can just tell you where to go from there."

Lexa just nodded, biting the corner of her mouth. She put her car into drive and glanced quickly at Clarke as she started to pull out of the parking lot. The blonde's eyes were shut, and Lexa let out a quiet sigh. The woman next to her looked absolutely drained, and even though she didn't know Clarke, the sight of the blonde broke her heart. Even in the low-lighting of the car, she could see the marks on Clarke's face, she could see the cut on her lip that was still healing, and she knew deep down that Clarke's exhaustion wasn't all physical. The woman, whatever her story was, had gone through more than anyone should have to go through, and even though Lexa had only known the blonde for less that six hours, she wished that she could take away the stranger's pain.

Arkadia was just barely over a twenty minute drive away, and Lexa let her mind wander slightly as she drove. It was dark out, and after a few minutes of driving, the road was no longer lit by the dim street-lights that usually allowed for some sort of illumination along the streets in that area of Polis. Lexa's club wasn't exactly in the safest area of the city, but she didn't used to mind that very much. The brunette could certainly hold her own, and thanks to the couple of bouncers and her tough staff, everyone in the general area knew not to stir up too much trouble in the club. She wasn't as fond of the club now, though, as she once had been. Two years ago, that club was one of the hottest spots in Polis. It was a safe place, one of the few clubs in the city where drugs wouldn't be shared around, and it used to make her genuinely happy. Now, though, it didn't have that same atmosphere. Sure, people still loved the place, and it was still one of the safest clubs, but Lexa couldn't help but feel that something was missing.

Lexa glanced back at Clarke. She'd been driving for about fifteen minutes now, and she wasn't sure where she would be going after she was in Arkadia. The blonde's eyes were still shut, and Lexa let out a sigh when she realized that the woman had fallen asleep. Clarke's features were soft and more peaceful than they had been at any other point in the night, and Lexa could already feel the guilt gnawing at her that she would have to wake up the blonde for directions. She should have just gotten Clarke's address before they even left the parking lot. She bit her lip and kept driving. There was no use in waking Clarke until they were actually in the right district.

"Jesus," Lexa muttered under her breath when they entered Arkadia. "How the hell did she walk all that way?"

Arkadia wasn't too far away by car, but Lexa figured that it must have taken Clarke at least two and a half hours to get from Arkadia to her club. Given Clarke's physical state, too, the brunette wasn't sure how the blonde had made it. What shocked her the most was that Clarke had planned on walking all that distance back, while intoxicated, from Lexa's club. The blonde never would have made it back home.

"Alright Clarke, time to wake up," Lexa breathed with a light sigh, mostly to herself.

She slowed to a stop along the side of the street and scanned the area as if maybe looking down the nearest streets would give her some sort of indication as to where she needed to go, but in reality, she had no clue where in Arkadia she even was. She didn't usually head to this district unless she was just passing through.

Her heart ached as she looked back at Clarke. The woman was sleeping peacefully and Lexa hated that she had to wake her up, but there wasn't really any other option.

"Hey, Clarke," she tried, hoping that maybe her voice alone would be enough to wake the stranger. She doubted that the blonde would want to be touched, considering the bruises.

Clarke only continued to breathe calmly in response.

She hesitantly placed a hand on Clarke's shoulder, hoping that the gesture would be enough. "Clarke, you gotta wake up," she tried once more, her voice raised but soft at the same time. "We're in Arkadia."

Still, no response.

 _Great,_ Lexa thought to herself. God she wished she'd just gotten Clarke's address beforehand. There was no way in hell that she was going to try to shake Clarke's shoulder to wake her up. She had no clue what kind of response that would get her, and she didn't want to know. She grabbed the blonde's hand in her own and spoke the woman's name once more, hoping that maybe this would be enough to wake her up, but there was no result. Clarke was fast asleep, and Lexa figured that the amount of alcohol that Clarke had consumed was only going to make it harder than it already would be to wake up the blonde.

If she couldn't get Clarke to wake up, then there was only one other option.

"Okay," Lexa breathed into the silence, pursing her lips as she shook her head lightly. She wasn't sure if this was the best idea, but she knew that it was her only choice at this point if she didn't want to frighten Clarke awake. "I guess you're just staying the night at my place."

* * *

Honestly, this chapter might have been one of the most difficult that I've written. Hopefully you guys think it's decent! It was actually going to have a completely different ending, but I felt like maybe this would make for a more interesting couple of upcoming chapters and maybe it'll build a little more angst here and there? Who knows? Anyway, I'm already working on the next chapter, and I'm hoping to update my other Clexa fic soon too, so hopefully I'll be able to send out another update soon :) Hope you all have a good spring with better weather than what I'm getting right now! Please feel free to leave a comment about what your thoughts are on the story!


End file.
